


Companions React to a Sole Survivor with a Heart Condition that Makes Them Spit Up Blood

by tea_petty



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Blood, Chronic Illness, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Sick Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-12-31 14:05:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21146954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tea_petty/pseuds/tea_petty
Summary: The Sole Survivor is sick, the companions never knew until now.





	Companions React to a Sole Survivor with a Heart Condition that Makes Them Spit Up Blood

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to my Tumblr; tea-petty.

It had been so quiet, so quick, that Gage had to double take to make sure he was seeing what he thought he saw. Their hand flew up to their lips – they could’ve been eating something for all he knew – but he knew there was nothing enfolded in their palm. Then, the gesture faltered and left a blossom of crimson at the corner of their mouth.

Gage couldn’t tear his eyes away.

Another cough wracked Sole’s body, and more red spattered out. They brought their wrist up to swipe it away.

Gage watched the Overboss, their face as impassive as it had been slaying Colter or traipsing the gauntlet; both instances in which Gage had felt steadfast in Sole’s ease. He had to hand it to them, after the shit show Colter’s rule wound up being, he thought it was safe to say they’d all been in want of someone tougher, but Sole spilled blood and shed blood the same way – without so much as a twitch of their brow, and this chilled Gage to his very bone.

He didn’t dare ask about it. They didn’t talk about such things, and Gage wasn’t in any hurry to piss off the new Overboss for any reason. Though, he did make a point to keep his rucksack well stocked with rags that might strategically make their way to a resting position on a table corner Sole passed by a lot. A few Stimpak’s tried to live permanently in convenience, just in case. 

And still, Gage never uttered a word to Sole, who never uttered a word back, and so the cycle of silent preparedness was struck.

Every so often – usually when Sole was pushing themselves – their body would shudder and heave, and their lips would spray red. Gage would wait a few moments for it to subside, before moving to offer them a handkerchief (he made a habit of keeping some on hand since finding out about Sole’s condition, for “weapon maintenance”.) 

Sole would accept and then it was back to business – neither had to acknowledge what they both already knew. 

Sometimes, Gage would get close enough, and if the clammy sweat and trembling of exertion hadn’t yet left Sole’s body, he’d gently dab at their mouth himself. 

They did not speak of this either.

When in the presence of the gang leaders, Gage had learned to keep a straight face and still body when Sole had one of their episodes. This was exceptionally difficult, seeing as he saw the glimmer of opportunity flash in their eyes that shone like the rim of the metal bucket, they hoped Sole kicked soon.

This did not go unnoticed by Sole themselves either, who would take out an old, grubby kerchief from their pocket, primly wipe at their mouth, and say something along the lines of “Lunch isn’t sitting well with me.”

The gang leaders would drop it, recognizing the unspoken order as it fell before them, but they would not forget such an encounter.

Behind closed doors, it was a completely different story.

As soon as the doors atop fizz mountain latched shut, NukaWorld fell away, leaving only the ripening sky, and those beneath it. Sole would go straight to the bed, exhausted, while Gage would bring over a tin of purified water, and a rag. If it had been a particularly rough day, he’d take pause to dab at the red spatter at their face, before leaving Sole to rustle up some dinner.

On good days, Sole would be up for eating, and on not so good ones, he’d have to beg and plead for every bite. Regardless, they always finished the night in bed together, with Gage’s form tucked around Sole’s. The tenderness of the gesture was usually lost in the petrifying fear that plagued the raider as he held his Overboss; what if they stopped breathing in the middle of the night? Would he notice? Would he wake up holding their cold, stiff body in his arms, a living grave, their shared bed now a death bed?

Gage decided that instead of chasing after such haunted questions, he’d sit watch, driven through his sleeplessness by the encouraging thrum of Sole’s heart, as fragile and fluttered as a small bird.

When he thought they were sound asleep, Gage might try for a chaste kiss at Sole’s temple. If he were lucky, they maintained their slumber, undisturbed like the still surface of a pond. If he were unlucky, then a few moments of embarrassment were a small price to pay in watching life temporarily command Sole’s features again, in even the faintest of stirrings.

In the dead of night, Gage clung to signs of life, whispers of breath at Sole’s lips, waiting for them to scatter into the shadows and melt into the stillness.

When the sun broke free of the horizon at the birth of each day, Gage would shudder into a deep sigh, body trembling with the heavy fatigue it wrought. Safe to see another day, he thought, and that was all he’d wanted since the dawn before.


End file.
